


Tell-Tale Hearts

by SensationalSunburst



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: AU, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Vesemir is a Good Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensationalSunburst/pseuds/SensationalSunburst
Summary: Jaskier’s eyes were very big and very blue and deadly serious. “Give your Heart to me, Geralt, and I’ll keep it safe.”Then, he tilted left and vomited all over the floor.ORIn a world where your emotional heart exists outside your body, Geralt realizes he wants to do the unthinkable and give his to Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 106
Kudos: 902
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Tell-Tale Hearts

Winter usually yielded gracefully to spring in the mountains of Kaer Morhen, but on the morning that Vesemir caught Geralt kneeling with a spade in the overgrown thickets of unmarked graves her presence was as sharp as ever. There was frost on the brambles that Geralt had torn away, the ice catching the rising sun in ribbons of gold that matched those in his hair. It highlighted the hunted surprise in his expression, especially as the flush that his pale skin couldn’t hide rose higher and higher on his cheeks. 

Vesemir knew exactly what was buried at his feet, past the partially frozen earth and just a few feet shy above the remains of his fallen brothers, just as he knew exactly where the others had buried their small, silver chests. 

Not that he'd been told, of course, but the instinct to check on the location of one's Heart was too strong for even a Witcher to resist. 

Witchers, unlike normal humans, could leave their Hearts behind when they went out on the Path. Vesemir couldn’t fault them for the passes their eyes took over the keep’s grounds and in it’s darker corners when they were home, unconsciously checking on the source of their diluted emotions. Some, like Eskel, rehid their Hearts every winter, but Geralt had buried his Heart deep and never looked back. 

Until now. 

Geralt was waiting for Vesemir to scold him, he realized, for scorn and a lecture on weakness. It was clear in the protective way he was hunched over the hole, the wariness on his face and the short distance between his shoulders and his ears. It was enough for Vesemir to know that Geralt understood the ramifications and the meaning behind the action he was preparing to take. Vesemir could only sigh; nobody had ever punished Geralt as hard as he punished himself. 

Vesemir dropped a rag and silver polish to the ground, “At least get the tarnish off before you hand it over.” 

* * *

Jaskier’s heart was healthy, deep red with a strong, steady beat. It wasn’t without its own scars, notably the one carved deep through its middle, but it was very obviously the heart of one who loved deeply and loved often. 

He kept it in a strong crystal case, shining and pristine, on a nondescript string around his neck and tucked away under his shirt. However, around a secluded campfire or in the privacy of their rooms Jaskier would free it to thump against his chest as he bustled about or practiced his latest hit. 

When he washed Geralt’s hair after particularly messy hunts, Geralt would marvel as it dangled over the edge of the tub, freely tapping against his shoulders, his cheeks. It was always thumping just a bit harder then, rhythmically pounding against the crystal, like an exquisite instrumental all its own. 

Sometimes, displaying a flooring level of trust, Jaskier would even take it off. He’d leave it vulnerable, but not unprotected, on the table beside the bed or bath, more relaxed than he had any right to be with something so universally treasured out of reach. Geralt made sure to never touch it, to never cross the line of holding someone else Heart in his hands, even within its case.

“Where is _yours_?” Jaskier only asked after the beers had made him loose enough that Geralt knew he was going to end up carrying the bard back to their rooms. He was close enough that the smell of his perfumed oils was almost stronger than the ale on his breath. 

“Hidden,” Geralt replied, “Buried.” 

“ _What!_ Why?” Jaskier grabbed an unsteady fistful of Geralt’s shirt, “How is it… how is it so far away? Doesn’t that hurt?” Jaskier lurched to his feet and used his grip on Geralt’s shirt to lead them upstairs. Although the bumper lanes of Geralt’s arms were the only thing keeping the bard from tumbling ass-backward down the stairs, he thought he was dragging the witcher along behind him. 

“No prying ears,” Jaskier explained once they were behind the flimsy door of their room. He locked the door and shoved a chair under the handle, as was Geralt’s habit, and spun dramatically to face him. 

“This is why they say witchers have no emotion,” Jaskier said, in awe at his late discovery. He pulled his Heart from inside his shirt and held the thrumming muscle between his palms, swaying in time with its beat. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s face drained of color, his expression shifting so abruptly to one of horror that Geralt had half a mind to grab his swords, “Sweet _Goddess_ , Geralt, what if something’s happened to it?”

“It’s well hidden.” 

“But it’s not guarded! Geralt, someone could _take_ it!”

“Jas-” 

“Can you imagine what insanity someone would try if they knew they had the Heart of a witcher? Worse than those hacks in Oxenfurt with their cow balls! They’d tried to _eat it_ to gain your powers!” Jaskier was working himself up, pacing around their room in drunken lines of paranoia. Paranoia about _Geralt’s_ Heart.

It was an idea so absurd that Geralt was struck dumb. Humans, as a rule, were never _concerned_ about him, least of all his Heart. And yet, Jaskier was spinning horror stories, children’s tales really, about what could happen to abandoned Hearts. Slow and painful deaths ranked as the most popular of these tales, of course. They claimed that a Heart without attention or care would fail the muscle that beat within your chest, shriveling it down to nothing. 

Obviously, the tales were fantastic fabrications or witchers would live shorter, more painful lives than they already did. 

Geralt had seen plenty of people whose Hearts had been damaged and destroyed. Young, empty-eyed soldiers who’d carried their hearts without protection onto battlefields. Wordless maidens with vacant, listless faces- the victims of jealous lovers. 

Jaskier snatched up Geralt’s hands and pulled him from his thoughts, “Geralt. Geralt, listen, are you listening?” 

“I always listen to you, Jaskier.” 

“Don’t try to distract me with flattery. Listen, I will protect it.” 

Jaskier’s eyes were very big and very blue and deadly serious. “Give your Heart to me, Geralt, and I’ll keep it safe.” 

Then, he tilted left and vomited all over the floor. 

* * *

Vesemir sat across from Geralt the morning he left and joined him in frowning down at the glistening silver box sitting lonely at the center of their table. Geralt had clearly spent time cleaning the decades of tarnish from between the intricately carved mosaic across its surface, bringing the teeth and claws of the wolf pack racing across its surface to an almost mirror-like finish. 

"You think that sorceress of yours will keep it safe?" 

"She said she doesn't want it." Geralt said, almost distracted. Vesemir could hear the untold story in the evenness of the boy's voice and didn't push. It was one of the best things about Geralt, there was never a need to push. He'd either tell you, albeit in his own time, or he wouldn't- simple as that. 

"She doesn't believe it's important." Geralt continued after a moment, "Jaskier said… He said he'd _protect_ it." There’s a level of awe to his voice that makes Vesemir think that the boy had been knocked flat by whatever that brave little bard had told him in the first place. 

“And you believe him,” Vesemir said. It wasn’t a question, but Geralt, who’d yet to meet his eyes, shrugged a shoulder.

“A heart's a heavy burden,” Vesemir warned. 

Finally, Geralt lifted his head, a strange, almost helpless smile twisting his lips, “He’s stronger than he looks.”

* * *

Geralt was familiar enough with the feeling of gushing blood to realize it was running down his pant leg in the awful silence of Jaskier’s departure. He knew, in the same way he knew the exact distance between himself and the dragon in the cave behind him, that he would never see the bard again. 

In the same way that he knew it was his own fault. 

With a detached sense of curiosity, he pulled the silver box from his pocket and watched as blood poured from the lid. Inside, swimming in blood, his Heart fluttered weakly, a massive crack scarring its shrunken, almost charred surface.

It was hideous, just as Geralt had always known it would be. 

He edged his fingertip under one side, and lifted to slide his finger underneath, only slightly unnerved by the warmth of the blood oozing from the crack. But the moment his finger lifted one side, the entire Heart split in two and both halves rolled from his fingertip to splash back into the box. Blinking in shock at the piercing pain in his chest, he closed the lid and stared down at the image of a roaring wolf on its bloodied lid. 

He’d broken his own heart, as he always knew he would.

What good was it now, broken and shriveled as it was? 

He should have left it buried with his brothers. 

Geralt drew his arm, silver box weeping crimson over his hands. 

“Geralt, no!” 

Jaskier slammed into his back, legs wrapped around his waist and both arms wrapped around Geralt’s. The impact was accompanied by a discordant clang from Jaskier’s lute banging against his back. Geralt grunted in surprise, hands automatically coming up to support the sudden burden of Jaskier’s weight. The silver box clattered to the ground and Jaskier abruptly released him, spring-boarding from his back to scramble past him and snatch up the box before it could tumble from the cliff face. 

“-the fuck is wrong with you!” Jaskier snarled, wild-eyed. The blood still pouring from the box soaked immediately into his doublet and shirt where he clutched it with white knuckles against his chest, not that he seemed to notice. “Is this what I-? Because she dumped you? Great Goddess, you don't just _throw your Heart away_ because someone broke it!" 

"No, I-"

"You what, Geralt? What? Because it looks like you were trying to fucking kill yourself over a sorceress that, may I remind you, has almost gotten you killed _multiple_ _times_ already! _No_! No, you don't get to have this right now!" 

Geralt hadn't realized he was reaching for Jaskier until the bard snarled and skittered backward. 

"You have to prove that you're not going to hurt it! Don't you understand how precious your Heart-?" He stuttered, and the flush that grew on his cheeks was somehow even brighter than the fury already painted there, " _A_ Heart is?" 

"Then you keep it." 

Jaskier's mouth dropped open, but nothing came out but a few strangled consonants. 

There was a balloon inflating in Geralt's chest, crushing his lungs against his ribs and sending his pulse into a fight or fight kind of overdrive. Jaskier had _come back_ ; the bard really must have collected the story from the others and returned. But if that wasn't the case, if he really was leaving, and was just coming back to claim the last word then Geralt couldn’t squander the chance to salvage… _this_. Whatever _this_ was. 

Somewhere in his mind, the voice of ever-patient Eskel pointed out that if the bard had truly returned to hurt him then he wouldn't have stopped him from throwing the box. 

"You said once that you'd protect it." Geralt said. 

"Which I just did," Jaskier said, almost dazed. 

"Which you just did," Geralt agreed, "I meant to… I've been meaning to…" He grunted, frustrated, as the words refused to budge past his teeth. 

"It's yours." He managed, "It's been yours; if you'll have it."

The sun setting behind Jaskier lit his edges gold but cast his face in shadow. If not for his mutated vision, he would have been unable to see the journey Jaskier’s expression took as the silence dragged on. His mouth snapped shut after a moment and his eyebrows climbed down from his hairline as he finally looked down at the bloodied box in his hands. It clicked open and despite the howling of the wind through the valley, Geralt could have sworn that he could feel the clunk of the lock’s mechanism echo through the silence between them. Jaskier moved one trembling hand up to stroke the shuddering muscle and made a low, choked sound in the back of his throat, almost like a whine. 

“Geralt,” He said, “Geralt. What _happened_?” 

Living, Geralt wanted to say. Humans and death and monsters. His fate, his friends and their inevitable loss. A moat of small bones buried deep in the mountains behind a wall that had ultimately done nothing to keep them safe. A little wooden box left abandoned in the middle of an empty mountain road. A Black Sun Princess who refused to back down and a violet-eyed hurricane of a sorceress he’d mistakenly tried to keep.

What he said was, “You were gone.” 

“I told you where I was going.” Jaskier’s face bloomed with understanding, “You needed to be alone for a moment.” 

“I was cruel to you.” Geralt said, “I thought you’d left.” 

Jaskier tried to wipe the blood on his hands off on his pants as he took three swift steps to stand chest to chest with Geralt. Jaskier held Geralt’s eyes as he reached down into his doublet and pulled the chain that held his Heart up and over his head. There was no hesitation to his motion, no trembling in his hands, as he slipped the chain over Geralt’s head to let his Heart pound against the witcher’s chest. 

“It’s only fair,” Jaskier said as Geralt reached for him, “You’d better take better care of it than you did your own.” 

“This,” Geralt breathed, “I swear.” 

**Author's Note:**

> As always thanks you so much for reading. Please feel free to place a comment below.
> 
> There was a BBC Sherlock fic with the same idea, where one's heart- your emotional heart, is outside your chest and mirrors your emotional state. I cannot find it! I read it like ten years ago, 100 kudos to whoever can find that for me!


End file.
